


yeah you need someone to sing you to sleep

by suzukiblu



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Crush, Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “Unfortunate news, unfortunately,” Jaskier says. “There’s only one bed.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 39
Kudos: 908





	yeah you need someone to sing you to sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragequilt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragequilt/gifts).



> Written for ragequilt, who wanted tender Geraskier. This is a bit more "tender pining", but I figure the point gets across.

It’s a miserable, cold night, all mud and rain, and Jaskier looks almost as bad as Geralt, which is saying something because Geralt was the one who spent the evening fighting a particularly disgusting monster. Jaskier is just the one who had to walk through the woods and down the road in a downpour. 

“Well, that was dreadful. And worse, _boring_ ,” he says as they finally arrive at the inn. Geralt grunts and walks past him, leading Roach towards the stables. He’s presumably going to see her taken care of before he worries about himself, being Geralt, which leaves Jaskier with the job of getting them both a decent room and a bath. No surprise there. 

He wrings himself out the best he can while it’s still raining, then heads inside, where he immediately encounters a problem. This is a very small inn, and it has exactly one room, one bed, and one bath available. 

Jaskier is almost offended, honestly. Really? Really, this is what the world has in store for them tonight? _Really?_

Karma picks cruel moments to catch up, he thinks to himself. 

He rents the room because obviously he doesn’t have much of a choice, and someone goes to fill the bath, which is a small mercy. Despite his best efforts, he’s literally dripping with mud. 

Jaskier orders a drink, because he is chilled to the bone and _deserves_ one, and attempts to keep his muddy self out of the innkeeper’s way. Geralt comes inside eventually, looking even more a wreck than Jaskier remembered. His hair is practically _black_ with blood. Ugh. 

Geralt is a very, very attractive man, but even he can’t sell “blood and viscera” as a fashion statement. 

The innkeeper looks suitably horrified. Jaskier shrugs. 

“I told you we needed the bath,” he says reasonably, dropping a few coins on the bar and then heading over to Geralt with his drink in hand. “You look a wreck. Did you roll around in the mud a bit more while you were out there?” 

“Hn,” Geralt says, which could mean anything from “shut up” to “where’s the ale?” Jaskier passes him his tankard, and Geralt drains it in one long swallow. 

“Unfortunate news, unfortunately,” Jaskier says. “There’s only one bed. And one bath. Unless you want to wait another two hours for one, anyway.” 

“Hn,” Geralt says again, then pushes the empty tankard at him and heads for the stairs. Jaskier huffs, but returns the tankard to the bar and follows him. Really, as if Geralt even knows where he’s _going_. 

“End of the hall,” Jaskier supplies helpfully when the other pauses at the top of the stairs. Geralt doesn’t even acknowledge him, just heads onward. Jaskier makes a face at his back. _Rude_. 

Yes, Geralt nearly got eviscerated tonight, but when doesn’t he nearly get eviscerated? There’s no excuse for bad manners. 

Geralt pushes open the door at the end of the hall. The innkeeper’s daughter looks up from filling the bath and screams at the sight of him, dropping the bucket into the bath. Just a little scream, but definitely a scream. She immediately claps a hand over her mouth, looking horrified. 

“Don’t worry about it, he has that effect on people,” Jaskier tells her dismissively as he slips into the room past Geralt and takes his lute over to the chair to get it out of its case and check on it, because gods forbid any water damage happens to his livelihood. 

“Hn,” Geralt says, eyeing the bath. The innkeeper’s daughter grabs up the sinking bucket fumblingly and attempts to flee the room without coming into contact with him, which requires some impressive flexibility on her part. Normally Jaskier would be making a note of that for later, but again: he is covered in mud and rain right now. All he wants is to get into that bath and pass out in that bed, neither of which he is probably going to get to do. 

Geralt _is_ the one who was monster-hunting today, but to be fair, Jaskier paid for the room and bath, sooo . . . 

“I suppose we could take turns,” he says, already resigned to cold, dirty water. Geralt just starts stripping off his filthy armor, dropping it on the floor with less care for it than Jaskier’s ever seen him express. Fair, really, given how exhausting today was. 

Jaskier really would like some sleep more than anything else, to be quite honest, but he is _not_ sleeping covered in mud. 

Geralt drops the last of his clothes and armor into a heap on the floor and grabs the pitcher and basin on the dresser to start rinsing off the worst of the mud with, hardly even bothering to try and keep it off the floor. They’re going to make a mess no matter what, Jaskier supposes, shrugging out of his filthy jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair with his soaked-through pack. Hopefully some of his spare clothes aren’t _completely_ drenched, but . . . well, he wouldn’t bet on it. 

It’s a good thing he keeps his notebook in a waterproof bundle, put it that way. 

Geralt spends quite a while and most of the soap and water in the pitcher getting the monster blood and mud mostly off his skin and out of his hair. Jaskier politely does not stare at the beautiful body he is entirely unashamed to be walking around naked in. He busies himself with picking up the other’s armor and laying his clothes out to at least _try_ to dry. They’re not quite as filthy as Jaskier’s, what with the protection of the armor and all, but they’re still a bit of a mess. 

They really are both a mess, he thinks, glancing over at Geralt and his beautiful naked body as he sets out his clean clothes to dry. Geralt sets the pitcher back on the dresser, steps out of the basin, and practically collapses into the still-steaming bath, immediately leaning back and closing his eyes. 

To Jaskier’s mild surprise, he sits to one side, as if he’s leaving room for . . . oh. 

Huh. 

Jaskier blinks, slowly, and then undresses too and uses the remaining soap and water in the pitcher to get the mud off himself. He isn’t as impressive a sight as Geralt, obviously, but he doesn’t particularly care about not living up to the masculine ideal. He doesn’t think he’s ever met _anyone_ who’s as impressive a sight as Geralt, and frankly if someone had described him to him before they’d met he’d have thought they were making him up. 

He actually had, a bit. 

“How’s the water?” he asks casually as he sets the pitcher back on the dresser, just to give Geralt the last chance to hog the bath. Geralt grunts, not even opening his eyes to look over at him. Jaskier supposes that’s as much of an answer as he’s going to get, and slips into the other half of the bath. Mercifully, it’s big enough to fit them both without any undue physical contact. 

The hot water feels _perfect_ , and he groans in relief as he sinks into it. Oh, yes, he definitely needed this. He doesn’t ever want to get out of this tub again, in fact. 

“I’m going to melt, Geralt,” he says feelingly. Geralt finally cracks open an eye just to give him a dubious look. “Don’t give me that look, I mean it. Today was _hell_.” 

“You’ll live,” Geralt says, which might be the first thing he’s said in hours. Jaskier’s fairly certain it is, in fact. 

“Oh, I’ll live, but I don’t have to like it,” Jaskier says darkly, splashing a bit of water on his face and sighing in relief at the heat. “You didn’t even get _paid_.” 

Geralt sighs, head dropping back on his neck. Jaskier feels the irrational and suicidal urge to put his mouth on that bared throat, but isn’t quite that stupid. His fingers itch to touch the other’s chest, but again: not quite that stupid. He leans against the side of the tub, his own eyes half-closing, and lets himself watch Geralt for just a moment. Geralt remains beautiful, and naked, and close enough to touch. 

Perhaps getting in the bath was a mistake, Jaskier thinks for the first time. 

He’d literally rather die than get out of the hot water right now, though, so he supposes he’s just going to have to deal with the unfortunate consequences of his actions. 

“There’s still blood in your hair, you know,” he informs Geralt, whose mouth twists in annoyance. 

“I don’t care,” he says. 

“You’ll care when you wake up with it all tangled and matted,” Jaskier says. Geralt sighs and dunks his head under the water for a moment, then straightens back up and smooths his wet hair back off his face. Jaskier nearly bites his tongue. 

_Gods_ , he’s beautiful. 

“Still there,” he says like a perfectly normal and rational person, but there is in fact still blood, so . . . 

Geralt looks annoyed. He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs roughly at the clumps of blood, and Jaskier tsks at him. 

“ _Really_ , Geralt, don’t pull it out by the roots,” he says, and then, because he is the stupidest man _alive_ , “Here, I’ll get it.” 

Geralt drops his hands and Jaskier leans in and pours a handful of water over the other’s hair, then carefully works out the half-dried blood and . . . whatever other unpleasantness. He decides not to think about it too hard. There’s several things he’s not thinking about too hard right now, for obvious reasons, so it’s just one more. 

He’s been this close to Geralt before, obviously, but not while personally naked and not while practically in his lap. 

It’s a very nice feeling, so Jaskier tries not to feel it. Just . . . later. He’ll process this later. 

He leans back, flicking the chunks of blood off his fingers and onto the floor, and realizes Geralt is looking at him. Well, obviously he would be, but somehow that’s a lot to process too. 

“There you are,” Jaskier says, clearing his throat as he resettles in his seat. “Much better.” 

Geralt leans forward, and Jaskier’s heart nearly stops dead. Geralt lifts a hand and tugs at Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier’s eyes cross as he looks at—oh. A leaf. 

Well, that was a lot of stress over a very minor thing, he thinks. 

“Thank you,” he says, then ruffles a hand through his hair in search of any further bits of forest before, gods forbid, Geralt can get the idea to. “Er. So about the bed . . .” 

“It’s big enough for two,” Geralt says, which is technically true except neither of them is a small man, Geralt _especially_ , and Jaskier is the sort to move around in his sleep, and also all their clothes are all too soaked and/or filthy to sleep in. Jaskier’s heart really might stop this time. 

“I tend to roll around a bit,” he says, a bit faintly and also while internally cursing himself. 

“Then you’re sleeping on the outside,” Geralt says like it’s that simple, which probably means he’s going to shove him off the edge if he moves. That’s . . . some comfort, anyway. Jaskier thinks. 

“Alright,” he says, because he is _stupid_ , and Geralt seems to consider the matter settled and goes back to soaking in the bath. Jaskier does the same, slightly helplessly. Eventually the water starts to cool off, unfortunately, and Geralt stands up. Jaskier very pointedly does _not_ look at the cock that’s suddenly at eye level with him despite having a perfect and blameless opportunity to do so, and Geralt steps out of the bath and drips all over the floor. He dries off, more or less, and then heads over to the bed and immediately crashes into it, burying himself underneath the blankets. 

He leaves enough room on the mattress for Jaskier, and Jaskier’s heart does a funny little flip in his chest. He waits a few moments, then gets up too and dries himself off rather more carefully before heading over as well, dousing the lanterns on his way to the bed. The bed in which Geralt is laying. The bed in which Geralt is _naked_. 

Give him strength, Jaskier prays to whichever god might happen to be listening and have a little bit of mercy in their immortal heart, and lifts the covers and slips in beside Geralt. The bed is, in fact, big enough for both of them, but not big enough that he can’t feel Geralt’s body heat. 

He attempts to settle in. It doesn’t really work, and it takes far too much effort not to twitch or squirm or just fall off the bed altogether. 

“Stay _still_ ,” Geralt grunts, and throws an arm across his chest. Jaskier immediately freezes. 

Well. Alright then, he thinks. He looks over at Geralt, whose body is heavy against the bed and barely visibly in the dark. He’s clearly trying to sleep. 

That’s fine. Jaskier can do that. He can sleep. 

He exhales only a little bit shakily, and doesn’t say any of the dozen things that come to mind. Sleep. Sleep is safe. Time for sleep. 

He forces himself to stop staring at Geralt’s silhouette and looks into the darkness overhead instead. He hums a few bars to himself, not actually meaning to, and Geralt grunts at him. Jaskier bites back another dozen things he wants to say and just lays there in the quiet, feeling Geralt’s damp arm across his chest and radiating warmth against his side. The other smells like soap, unsurprisingly. He can hear him breathing. 

Jaskier doesn’t think he’s going to sleep very well tonight, but . . . well, he doesn’t think he’s going to regret it, either. He hums a few more bars, fingers curling in the blankets, and Geralt doesn’t grunt at him this time. 

“If you start singing that damn song, I’m pushing you off the bed,” he mutters, close enough that Jaskier can feel his breath. 

“I won’t,” Jaskier replies quietly, tightening his grip on the blankets. Geralt grunts again after all and burrows deeper into the mattress. Jaskier wants to sing something _very_ badly, actually—he frequently wants to sing when he’s nervous—but he holds it in. 

He wants to do a lot of things right now, and the only smart one is to stay very still and very silent until Geralt falls asleep. 

What he actually does, of course, is turn towards him in the dark and hum very quietly. Geralt sighs, but doesn’t protest, and Jaskier feels a warm rush go through him. He really wants to sing and he really wants to put his hands all over Geralt and put his mouth on his mouth and pull him on top of him, but he’ll settle for this. This is enough; this warmth and closeness and soft quiet darkness. 

He might never get this again, but he already knows he’s going to write a very, very good song about the way he feels right now. 

_I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,_ he thinks, and imagines that he feels Geralt’s hand in his hair again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
